


If I Meet More Than Your Eye

by ChangeableConsistency



Series: Marvelous D/s [1]
Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Atypical Dynamic, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangeableConsistency/pseuds/ChangeableConsistency
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early in Phil and Clint's relationship, both are still trying to find their place.</p><p>Part of my Marvelous D/s 'Verse, set considerably before Friendly Competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Meet More Than Your Eye

**Author's Note:**

> The story and chapter titles are from "I Guess You're Right", by The Posies.
> 
> Please let me know if there are any warnings/tags I should add. 
> 
> Unbeta'd (as per usual).

As soon as the door shut behind him his back was pressed up against the reinforced steel, the snap of the preprogramed locks echoing in his ears, the arm across his neck an adamantium band.

6 counters. 4 non-lethal. He took a shallow breath. And waited. 

A rough hand caught on the smooth cashmere of his charcoal suit sleeve, firm and steady down to his loose grip on the government black briefcase, pulling it free to drop to the floor and his lips twitched in a faint moue of protest. Calloused fingers insinuated between his to squeeze twice, and he relaxed ever so slightly. 

Not a flashback then. 

But if not that, what was he up to?

He squeezed back twice, easing the panic flirting with the edges of Barton's eyes, willing to let this play out for now.

The grip on his hand moved to his wrist and tightened, cruel and possessive. He kept his expression as bland as possible, betrayed by the a faint tension around his dilating eyes and the corner of his mouth.

Barton occasionally flirted with sadism, but it was never more than Coulson could handle and often not as much as he liked. In fact, it was one of the few areas he was ever left wanting. He had plans for getting his boy to embrace that part of his nature, but it was a slow process. Barton was struggling to reconcile what he had been raised to think of as "appropriate sub behavior" with his desires and needs. Coulson was willing to let it take as long as necessary; he was a patient man and had more than enough experience denying himself in the name of the greater good. 

And as far as he was concerned there was no greater good than Barton's well-being.

Stormy grey-green eyes searched his own placid blue, flecks of brown swimming in the ocean of his eyes; the door started to warm  beneath his back as he continued to wait, held in place by Barton's assessing gaze, projecting calm acceptance. He was here for whatever Barton needed, as long as he needed it. 

Who did he think he was kidding, he thought with a silent self-deprecating laugh, he was never going to let Barton go. Whether Barton wanted him to or not.

Barton kept him pinned against the metal door and slowly licked his lips before licking Coulson's, pulling his head back and glaring when Coulson tried to capture Barton's lower lip between his teeth, gently pressing his forearm against the agent's throat and twisting his captured arm against the door. 

Coulson winced at the misstep and warned himself to slow down. He deliberately tilted his head back, exposing the pale line of his throat above the muscled forearm pressing against his black silk tie and starched white collar. He parted his lips slightly, barely able to breath and he forced the tension out of his body. He kept his gaze steady and Barton briefly lowered his eyes, shuddering, before relieving the pressure at Coulson's throat, his right thumb caressing the hollow beneath his Adam's apple, dragging it across Coulson's pulse point, feeling the rapid beat and boldly reveling in his temporary Dominant's excitement before unknotting his tie one handed, squeezing the captured wrist tightly in counterpoint to each long, slow, pull. Tight enough to leave a faint ring of bruises, carefully placed just above his shirt cuff where they would only be visible to those privileged few allowed to see past the efficiently distant demeanor Coulson put on each morning like a knight donning his armor.

Coulson swallowed, watching Barton's eyes travel from his moistened lips to his throat as he pressed hidden marks into Coulson's skin through the layers of fabric.

Forward, though not irrationally so. Taking, but not pushing. Coulson was sure it would only be a matter of time.

Barton left his tie hanging loose to either side of the deftly unbuttoned collar. Coulson smirked slightly, his boy was certainly good with his hands; his shirt was swiftly freed from his slacks and unbuttoned completely; parting slightly as Barton's calloused thumb stroked him from neck to navel, exposing a darkly furred strip of skin.

Barton raised an eyebrow at the smirk; his fingers tracing a surprisingly well defined bicep hidden beneath the trapping of Coulson's 'SHEILD uniform' before wrapping his hand around the older man's other wrist and twisting it, too, behind his back to press against the now warm steel. Then Barton was devouring his mouth, keeping him pinned against the door, his warm naked body covering Coulson's like lust colored paint. 

Coulson was starting to have trouble thinking. He wanted to twist out of the hands pinning his wrists, take his boy by the hair and force him to his knees. He let Clint lick into his mouth, teeth scraping against his lips, wet tongue lewdly thrusting against Coulson's own, coaxing it into Clint's sinfully dangerous mouth to be alternately sucked and stroked. He was unable to keep his fists and toes from clenching, fighting not to take control the kiss. 

It was filthy and wonderful, and he knew exactly how good that mouth would feel on his cock. He knew he could have it, right now. He could simply order Clint to his knees, though that would require catching his breath, which Clint was intent on preventing if his needy moan was any indication. 

The toned naked body would slither down his soft wool suit to kneel at his feet, hands palm up on his thighs, knees spread, cock jutting hard and proud between his open legs; no less proud than the fire flashing in his eyes as he gazed up and grated out, 'Yes, Master?" with a sneer, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched and Phil moaned into Clint's mouth at the images flashing behind his eyelids. When had he closed his yes? He couldn't remember. God DAMN he wanted that. He knew they could have that. But not yet. It was too soon, and he didn't need Clint regretting anything they did together. If he pushed too hard everything he had been trying to build between them would shatter like fairy-spun glass. 

So he allowed Clint to take, and take; his erection straining at the silk of his boxers, as he chanted to himself, "Whatever my boy wants. What ever he needs. For Clint. Clint. My boy." 

It had only been a couple weeks. He had never known he could need anyone this much, enough to let them take charge of his body, to accept giving up that control.

He'd had aggressive lovers before. Doms that assumed, because he preferred to stay inconspicuous, he would roll for them. Subs that tried to top from the bottom. Once he had experimented with a switch girlfriend, letting her tie him in half a dozen ways and ride him all night long. He learned a lot that night. He didn't subscribe to the stereotypes that the Dominant was the sadist, the penetrator, always the one binding and never bound. All of the partners that had tried to dominate him had ended up disappointed; he just wasn't submissive and never would be.

The kiss lasted a lifetime, and then another. Clint moaned again, or maybe that was his own voice. He couldn't be sure at this point, but it truly didn't matter.  He just let go, allowing himself to be trapped by flexing muscle and a wet hot mouth.  The thrust of his boy's tongue, the hot length of him pressing into the cashmere of Phil's trousers. How wound up Clint had to have been to be this aggressive, knowing the consequences; it was such a turn on that Phil wasn't going to go anywhere or contradict anything Clint had planned. 

Not yet at least; he wasn't entirely sure there was a plan. He let Clint slam his wrists to the door as the sniper broke the kiss.

"Mine," he snarled.

Phil licked his own lips, wet and bruising, and panted, "Yours."

Clint's flushed skin took on an even rosier glow, eyes fluttering closed as a light tremble raced down his spine. 

"What do you need, boy?" his Dominant asked, tightly leashed desire and command dripping from every word.

Clint suppressed the beginnings of a whimper, nearly undone by the promise in his Dominant's voice. Knees weak, he leaned into Phil's strength.

It was so wrong, and felt so right. Being given so much, allowed to take the reins like this, especially after the day he'd had. The unspoken understanding. The compassion he was slowing coming to accept as an inherent part of his Dom's nature. It was a gift he'd never expected, cherished all the more because it had to be temporary. Something this good never lasted long in his experience.  

He squeezed Phil's wrists twice again before releasing one, pulling him away from the door and dragging him across the room, pushing him into the overstuffed leather chair.

"Stay," he rasped, a desperate thread of need lacing the word as he pressed Phil's wrists down against the padded arms, stepping back as his Dom nodded his acquiescence, hands gripping the soft leather, swallowing in anticipation. Phil resisted the 'always' that threatened to leave his lips, knowing it would be more than Clint could bear. (Someday, his mind whispered.)

When his boy knelt down, the reality was the sun to the flaring match of Phil's imagination. He moved impossibly slow, head tilted back, throat bare; it hurt to watch. Blunt fingers feathered where a collar would lay; where HIS collar should be, and Phil growled. 

Clint drew down his fingers to tease his nipples, pinching and twisting the way that always drove him to incoherent screams when Phil did it, his hips thrusting involuntarily; then barely brushing over his abs, following the indentations at his hips, to cup his balls in his left hand and use his right to stroke his cock in one long motion, and then stroking it again before squeezing the tip with a low moan. Phil licked his lips, holding back a snarl. He could pin his boy before he could move, bite his claim into the soft line of his throat and stroke him until he came all over the both of them. 

But no. Restraint. He could do this...he could...

Clint continued to touch himself, hands flowing to his inner thighs to scratch lines of red up across the top of his tensed quads and then back to his ass, squeezing the rounded globes while flexing his swollen cock forward, the tip flushed red and beginning to drip and Phil's had to tighten his grip on the chair, press his head back and hold on for dear life. 

Clint was trying to kill him.

Clint's hands came down the back of his thighs and around to his knees as he folded gracefully to the floor between Phil's legs, caressing the bare flesh of his inner calves before pushing them further apart, spreading Phil's knees wide at the same time. 

Phil's heart was racing and he couldn't keep from panting as he licked his lips, a soft growl taking permanent residence in the back of his throat.

Clint's hands rubbed up the inside of Phil's legs, nails scratching at the soft wool, and Phil had to close his eyes for a moment, blocking out the intense look of desire boring into him, threatening to strip him of the wavering grasp he had on his control. Clint's hands stopped when his eyes shut and he took a couple of deep, centering breaths.

When he opened them again, Clint continued, scratching up his inner thighs to cup him, far too briefly, through the layers of silk and cashmere.

"Boy," he bit out in warning, nostrils flaring.

Clint's lips quirked in what was more of a smirk than a smile as he slowly unbuckled the matte black leather belt and unbuttoned his Dom's pants, unzipping them one tooth at a time.

He bent down, arching his back to display the muscles of his back, showing off his flexibility as he licked his Dom through the fine silk of his boxers. 

Phil hummed appreciatively, keeping his hands in place against the soft leather, remaining as still as possible as his cock flexed under the ministrations of his boy's tongue. 

When he was satisfied with the slickness of the silk, the way his Dom's cock strained against each wet stroke, the boy sucked the tip into his mouth, teeth tugging at the flared glans as he memorized each curve and indentation with his tongue.

The encouraging hum deepened back into the low rough growl that meant his Dom was at the edge of his restraint. He wasn't sure what he wanted more, his Dom to break, give in to the animal call to take what is his, pin his boy down and fuck him, wreck him, leave him used and sore and wanting on the floor, or to allow him to continue his game of pulling at the thread of lust binding them together, dragging out each delicious second.

His Dom's cock was hot and heavy in his boy's hands as he freed it from the clinging wet silk, licking his lips in anticipation. The playful set of his mouth swept away by the pounding need to take it all, to feel the thick length invade his throat, to have his Dom spill across his face, marking his boy, or better yet against his tongue were he could savor the taste in his mouth.

"Sir?" he asked, need shining in his eyes, their thin ring of mossy green nearly swallowed whole by the inky darkness of his pupils.

Phil snarled, grabbing the back of his boy's neck, nails digging into Clint's skin as he forced his head down, "Stop teasing, boy, and get that slut mouth around my cock."

Clint shuddered, falling, losing himself to the sweetness of his submission; becoming a vessel for his Dom to use, a warm wet hole to thrust into; the grip on his neck moved to pull his hair, shorter than any sub's had a right to be, setting a rhythm guaranteed to draw this out, to leave Clint sobbing and gasping for air, his jaw aching, fear rushing through him that he might disappoint his Master followed by resolve. He would take it for as long as his Master allowed. He whimpered as he sunk deeper into subspace.

Phil felt the change in his boy, shuddering at the soft moans and whimpers, "That's it, boy. Take it. Open for me. You're mine, I've got you."

He thrust down Clint's throat as his boy's hands wrapped around his legs, tears streaming down his face as he swallowed Phil down his throat, gagging slightly, pushing back against the hand in his hair for a second before stopping himself, letting Phil decide when he could breath, how much he could take.

"Good boy, keep sucking." He let his boy catch a quick breath before plunging deep, Clint's nose pressing into the forest of dark curls at the base of his cock, letting him up again, setting a pattern, tugging the silky blond strands captured between his fingers.

All to soon, or perhaps an eternity later, he could feel Clint begin to tremble, and so he sped up, "Such a good boy, I'm so proud of you. Just a little longer, come on, you can do it. I know you can."

Clint's back arched as he twisted closer, his broken whimper's dancing in Phil's ears as Clint threw everything he had into sucking Phil's cock, his tongue rubbing the slick length as Phil continued to thrust until he came with a roar, pulling back as he pulsed down his boy's throat to coat his tongue. 

"Don't you dare swallow," his Master snarled, his head falling back and staring down at him through half lidded eyes. He nodded and rested his tear-stained cheek against the soft cashmere keeping him from the warm skin of his Master's thigh.

"Come here," Phil commanded, lazy and sated. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, he would have been content to stay at his Master's feet the rest of the night, as hard and aching as he was with his Master's come resting on his tongue. Clint slithered up his body, causing him to wince as his oversensitive cock twitched in response; his boy never knew when to quit. He pulled Clint up into his arms; cradling him in his lap and tucking his head into the crook of his neck, feeling the panting breaths stutter and slow.

"Swallow," he shuddered in his Master's arms; Phil hadn't even checked his mouth, trusting his boy to obey, and he had. Tears leaked from the corners of his tightly clenched eyes as he swallowed, licking his lips.

"Thank you, M-"he caught himself and finished softly, "Sir."

He wasn't sure what love was, but he thought he might be finding out.

**Author's Note:**

> Sneak Peak: Let The Games Begin
> 
> "I don't see why we can't just start without her."
> 
> "One more word without permission and I promise you will spend the next hour gagged," Pepper said sweetly.
> 
> Tony shuddered and started to say, "Y-" but caught himself just in time; opting to meekly nod his head and stay silent. Pepper never broke her promises.
> 
> Steve bumped his shoulder into Tony's, both as a comforting touch and an "I warned you" in the silent communication they had shared.
> 
> At that moment the giant drawing room doors opened revealing Emma.
> 
> "Darling, I am always worth the wait."
> 
> All eyes turned towards her and there were a couple gasps.
> 
> Emma was, of course, dressed to the nines in her trademark white. The leather had been polished until it practically glowed, stiletto boots rising to the top of her thighs. A bare stretch of skin peaked out between them and her white leather shorts, which were crowned by a stunning corset embroidered with shimmering silver thread. 
> 
> One hand loosely held the black and white lead attached to her sub's black leather collar, the same black leather used to create the redhead's otherwise identical outfit.
> 
> Clint's quietly confused, "Tasha?", shattered the silence, and everyone started talking at once.


End file.
